


In The Rising Tide (We Wait For The Fall)

by Tokyo_the_Glaive



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Death Threats, Force Bond (Star Wars), Hux is Not Nice, Kylo Ren is Not Nice, M/M, Post-Canon, Pre-Relationship, Relationship Negotiation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-14
Updated: 2017-04-14
Packaged: 2018-10-18 19:43:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,786
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10623828
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tokyo_the_Glaive/pseuds/Tokyo_the_Glaive
Summary: Ren dreamed of rows and rows of boys, most of them of a height and an age but faceless and unknown, all waiting, standing, listening. Ren couldn’t hear a thing. He watched a gray day fade into a gray night and back. Over time, some of the boys vanished. He wondered about them, though he oughtn’t’ve: each of them wore an identical uniform. Ren knew without thinking it outright that they were replaceable, each one just as valuable and disposable as the next. At first they wore the sigil of the Empire, but all at once, it changed, and the First Order insignia found its way to their arms. Ren tried to talk to one of the children, but the boy remained motionless, unreadable with no distinguishing features other than his ears.“Conditioning ended,” came a voice from overhead. Always the same voice at the end of the dreams. It broke the silence as sure as blaster fire. Ren woke from those dreams gasping for air, sure that some part of himself had slipped away.(alternatively, the one where Hux and Ren accidentally form a Force bond, Hux daydreams about clothes, and Ren just wants his mental privacy back)(or: Tokyo shows up to the Burberry AU party several months late)





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [valda](https://archiveofourown.org/users/valda/gifts).



> With countless thanks to truckthat over on tumblr, without whom this fic would have never seen the light of day. I owe you more than mere thanks.

If you’d asked Hux, age five, what he wanted to be when he grew up, he would think very hard, and depending on whether or not he felt honest and safe, he would answer either, “A General” or, “A tailor”.

The thing about Hux was that he liked specific things tremendously and other things not at all. Hux appreciated clean lines and sharp contrasts and well-fitting garments. He admired shapes—distinct and clearly distinguishable—and colors of all varieties so long as they came together in specific combinations. He liked the notion of sewing, even if his few bumbling attempts left him with bloodied fingers and nothing to show for it.

His mother, while she was alive, would smile and kiss his fingertips and reassure him while she worked on the meal of the hour. He loved those moments, and he used to dream of designing a dress for her like the kind his Mother, with a capital M because his father insisted he refer to her as such, was allowed to wear, one that suited her. Her palette would be orange and green and white to match her face—or, her face when it wasn’t purple and black and blue and yellow. The angrier his father became as the war went on, the more often she looked that way.

Hux hated those times, hated his father, hated—

It didn’t matter. Hux had to push his hatred aside. Though it had a direction, it wasn’t practical.

Even though he hated his father, he adored his father’s dress uniform. It was the pinnacle of everything Hux liked, clean and sharp and fitting and _beautiful_. Hux wanted one for himself. He once attempted to put it on, and upon discovering that it did not fit him, he did his best to raise the hems. He managed to tear and stain both trouser legs and somehow completely shred one of the arms. For his efforts, his father beat him until he passed out, his back bloody and his face splotchy from crying.

Mother looked on, stoic and uncaring throughout the ordeal.

His mother—his _real_ mother, he thought, vicious—dressed his back when all was said and done and sang to him in a shaking voice, whispering promises Hux couldn’t remember for the sickness he developed from the beating. It was one of the last memories he had of her, and it was one he cherished.

If his father deterred Hux from his passion for clothes, it was only publicly so. Hux maintained his admiration of clean-cut, lovely outfits even after both his mother and Mother were abandoned (Hux could refer to it in no other way; though he understood the necessity of the sacrifice, he could never fully shake the notion that his father had left them both behind when he could have done something else.) He nurtured his tastes through his formative years, though he kept them well-hidden lest he draw attention to himself, and clothes remained one of the first things Hux noticed about others. It was his first criterion for judgment, the second being how the individual spoke and the third being their opinion on the New Republic. Generally, only the first two were necessary to know the third, though a handful of poorly-dressed bumpkins did periodically profess hatred of that wretched institution. Hux hated them anyway just because he could. Hatred of a lesser sort was practical.

His love—though Hux liked to think himself incapable of love and preferred _passion_ or, better, _inclination_ —for clothes remained dormant until he began to rise through the ranks. Admittedly, that was rather immediate, thanks to the influence of someone within the budding First Order who was referred to only as Snoke, someone Hux’s father seemed to both respect and fear. As soon as Snoke got involved in Hux’s life—not long after he finished at the Academy, and possibly before then—his life changed. He rose through the ranks, to be sure—Snoke seemed to think that Hux was someone worthwhile, someone destined to wield power over a new Empire—but the real change was how his father got off his back. More than that, his father _deferred_ to Hux.

It was a powerful feeling, if a strange one. Suddenly, his father asked Hux his opinions, sought his approval. The tables turned so quickly, Hux wasn’t sure his head would ever stop spinning. At the very least, he knew he would never experience anything stranger.

Then he met Kylo Ren.

Ren was perhaps the most improbable thing that could have happened to Hux, if only because he defied every known and unknown expectation for humanity Hux had ever possessed. To make matters worse, Ren didn’t give a single thought to the way he dressed. That was, quite naturally, the first thing Hux noticed about him. Second was the absurd bucket on his head—was he going for a Darth Vader-esque appearance? If so, he was failing spectacularly. The third was his self-professed hatred for the New Republic.

Hux couldn’t quite forgive the first two offenses, so it didn’t mean as much to him as it should have. He hated Ren on sight and resolved to be rid of him as soon as possible.

* * *

General Armitage Hux. Youngest of his rank. A strategist above all else, with a gift for organizing massive swaths of people into a coherent whole. A bastard, if the rumors were to be believed, though his parentage hardly mattered in the grand scheme of things. Ruthless, short on charisma, but a hard worker.

Ren saw all of those qualities, but he also saw the underpinning truths: Hux fretted constantly about the opinions of others; he wanted power, control, and to return the galaxy to a state that Ren didn’t think had ever truly existed.

Translation? Hux could be easily manipulated. He was a sycophant, eating up the impossible dreams Snoke fed him with a spoon. Ren couldn’t wait to watch him fall if only because, high as Hux was, it promised to be spectacular.

Of course, the thing that Ren missed about Hux was his complete and unshakable belief in himself above all else. Where others fell, Hux persevered. He fought tooth and nail when it came down to it. He would save his own skin, sure of his own importance—sure that, until he reached his goals, he could not die.

If Ren were to be honest with himself—if, like Hux at age five, he felt secure and safe and trusting—he might have said that he was just a little envious.

Hux at age five rarely felt any of those things, and Ren no longer knew what trust meant at all, so such an incident was unlikely.

Then Starkiller Base exploded under X-wing fire. Everything changed.

Ren survived, as did Hux. Ren had mixed feelings about both. He half-wished Hux had perished so that he might never have to speak to him again, but the other half recognized that Hux’s continued existence was the only reason for his own. Not that, in the absence of Hux, Snoke wouldn’t have ordered anyone to retrieve Ren, but that _no one else could have done so_.

Hux fought for every scrap of time he could find. No one else had that drive to succeed or survive.

Delirious and frost-bitten and woozy with blood-loss, Ren permitted himself an admission of envy.

* * *

“Thank you.”

Hux started at the words. In the otherwise silent medbay aboard the _Finalizer_ , Ren’s voice was like blaster fire.

Resisting the ugly urge to ask _what for_ —a question that would reveal that he _cared_ , something he desired very much not to do—Hux frowned and set aside his datapad. The First Order had sustained astronomical losses, and he was sifting through the aftermath—would bedoing so for the foreseeable future. He would find a path forward soon enough, but for now, all he had to show for his work was a headache and more names on casualty lists than could easily be fixed by a handful of orphanages run by like-minded individuals for the benefit of the First Order.

Ren lay on one of the cots, staring sightlessly at the ceiling. Even after a transfusion (costly, too costly, Hux thought, as if they had enough blood to go around) and bacta and everything else, he was pale to match the scratchy, thin scrap of fabric that the physician had the gall to term a blanket. Even Hux felt as though he might freeze, but Ren didn’t so much as shiver, and he was wearing substantially less. If Hux could have been anywhere else, he would have been, but the Supreme Leader had been particular about this: _oversee his recovery personally_.

“See to it that it doesn’t happen again,” Hux said, unsure and uncaring if Ren had been waiting for a response to his statement.

Ren remained silent at that. Hux stared at him and wondered what his hair would look like if it was ever cleaned.

* * *

Ren dreamt, and his dreams were not his own.

There was a woman with a permanent frown etched on her painted face. She reminded Ren of holos he’d seen when he was young. They’d been recovered from the archives of the old Empire, and what they showed made it clear why they’d been kept away from the public: there was prosperity and opulence in equal measure; societies where humans and other sentient beings existed side-by-side. There were many grainy, blue holos of old Coruscant, and of those, many that had been taken in the Senate. Young Palpatine was there; Ren had recognized him at once. He didn’t know any of the others. Their names had been linked to betrayal and deceit when Palpatine rose to power, and they had been erased in all but this.

There was another woman in Ren’s dreams. Her hair was red as the day was long, and it was pulled back in a series of simple braids. This was no relic of a long-gone age; this was a working woman, her hands calloused and her clothes faded and worn thin.

She smiled, though, open and sincere. The first one didn’t.

Everyone else blurred until they became indistinguishable. Ren dreamed of rows and rows of boys, most of them of a height and an age but faceless and unknown, all waiting, standing, listening. Ren couldn’t hear a thing. He watched a gray day fade into a gray night and back. Over time, some of the boys vanished. He wondered about them, though he oughtn’t’ve: each of them wore an identical uniform. Ren knew without thinking it outright that they were replaceable, each one just as valuable and disposable as the next. At first they wore the sigil of the Empire, but all at once, it changed, and the First Order insignia found its way to their arms. Ren tried to talk to one of the children, but the boy remained motionless, unreadable with no distinguishing features other than his ears.

“ _Conditioning ended_ ,” came a voice from overhead. Always the same voice at the end of the dreams. It broke the silence as sure as blaster fire. Ren woke from those dreams gasping for air, sure that some part of himself had slipped away.

* * *

Hux held his face under a stream of cold air and closed his eyes.

More nightmares. He’d have to get that taken care of if it persisted.

In the meantime, he set about righting his affairs as best as he could. They’d lost many TIE fighters, including a few of their best. Captain Phasma was still alive, thankfully, though Lieutenant Mitaka had perished, as had a number of Hux’s handpicked officers. He’d stationed them on Starkiller because it was meant to be his success story, the first in a series of crowning achievements. Now they were all gone.

But. He couldn’t dwell on that, just as he could not dwell on his dreams. He had to move on, and he would.

Ren remained the only barrier to that process. Every day, Hux ventured down to the medbay to work for hours on end. Every day, Ren lay there, still and unmoving. Hux couldn’t tell if he was recovering or not. He had to—in one of the one-on-one meetings that were becoming more and more frequent, Snoke had indicated that Ren was not to return to his side until he had healed as much as he possibly could. His training, Snoke insisted, was most strenuous, and he would not lose so promising of an apprentice when so much was on the line.

Hux agreed, in a way. They needed every asset they could get for the coming fights, but he struggled to see Ren as _promising_ in any sense but a destructive one—count on Ren to ruin everything, from his own clothes to Hux’s own ability to get work done.

Perhaps that thought was uncharitable, Hux thought, glancing over at his co-commander. From his position on his side, Hux could see Ren’s spine, curved over as he presumably slept. Ren hadn’t so much as stirred when he’d entered, and the medics told him that Ren hadn’t done much of anything else besides. He wasn’t causing any sort of disturbance right now, at least. It was the Supreme Leader’s directive that had Hux slogging through endless reports and reminders of his failure by Ren’s bedside, shivering and freezing the day through.

Hux forced himself to shake those thoughts aside. He needed to get supplies, troops, and ships. Regardless of the circumstances, he had work to do.

* * *

Of all of the absurd things to dream about, measuring tape and fabric took first place.

Ren, now mostly conscious and recovered, lay in the medbay, staring at a white ceiling and listening to droids trundle to and fro. He was otherwise alone for the moment, and he felt…empty. Devoid of any feeling. It was frightening, or it would have been had he the capacity to feel frightened. In a distant manner, he thought that he ought to be more concerned, but he stared, blinking at irregular intervals, at the ceiling. He rolled over, from time to time to stare at one of the white walls. He counted, too. There were so many numbers, he didn’t think he could find all of them.

His mind, when he wasn’t questioning his own thoughts and lack of sensation, stuck on those new visions of measurements and uniforms. These thoughts, Ren understood, weren’t his, but this sort of thing only happened with close—allies. Ren had never been so attuned to a single individual before. It didn’t make sense that it would be someone he didn’t know, if only because these sorts of—things—Ren didn’t want to call them _bonds_ but it was really the only word he could conjure at the moment—didn’t happen like that. Still, he could think of no one who, while thinking about Stormtrooper armor, would slowly slip into thoughts of uniforms, both First Order and not, and clothes of all varieties.

It didn’t click until, at long last, Hux came down for his daily visit.

“You,” Ren said, not even looking away from the ceiling. He couldn’t blink. This wasn’t real. Hux? It couldn’t be. There was no way it was Hux.

“Yes, me,” Hux said, the sneer that surely marred his face evident in his voice. “The medics tell me you’ve refused to eat or shut your eyes.”

Ren blinked, aware quite suddenly that his face felt drawn and tight and that his eyes burned. He rubbed them, which only made it worse.

“Haven’t,” Ren got out.

“You claim otherwise?” Hux asked. Ren couldn’t respond. His eyes _hurt_ , and now that he was thinking about it, he was starving. “If you don’t eat, we’ll put a tube in you,” Hux continued. “It’s an unpleasant experience, so I suggest you pull yourself together.”

“I didn’t think it was you,” Ren said, his dry eyes moving under his eyelids. Really, he hadn’t thought that it would be anyone, much less that he’d come face-to-face with the issue so soon. Hux as the source simplified things, though. They were of a rank, or close enough. They could make this work.

“What?” Hux asked.

“Uniforms.”

“Ren, what are you—”

“You’ve been thinking about uniforms.”

Hux went very, very quiet. Ren couldn’t hear him breathing anymore, but he couldn’t open his eyes now. They felt so good closed.

Ren grinned, his mouth pulling painfully tight. “I was right,” he said, sing-song. “I wouldn’t have thought you to have a passion for clothes.”

Something snapped, and Hux stood. Ren could hear the click of his heels against the floor and the pull of leather over knuckles as he balled his hands into fists.

“Look into my head again and face the consequences,” Hux said suddenly, menacing and substantially closer. Hux strode away, barking orders at people Ren couldn’t see and didn’t care to know. As he went, Ren grimaced, the gesture pulling at the scabs on his face. They tried to come closer, but Ren tossed them to one side as if they were rag dolls. There were shouts, but none of them were Hux—he was striding away, Ren thought, aware of him as he’d never wanted to be.

Ren permitted himself to go boneless, to curl in on himself as he were a child again. That hadn’t gone as he’d expected. Truly, he hadn’t expected _any_ of this. He was barely lucid enough to consider the matter rationally, but it hurt—he felt hurt, and not physically so. Was it Hux? Himself? He curled tighter. He wanted it to _stop_. He hadn’t felt anything like this in years, and it had taken Snoke’s powers to fix it then. What could fix it now?

Ren’s mind swirled, a haze of concern and pain, until he drifted back off into unawareness.

* * *

Hux could have killed Ren—would have, were he not so important to Snoke.

“I sense something,” Snoke said. This was their fifth meeting in as many days. Hux was staring to fail to see the point, except that Snoke seemed to _want_ to talk more than usual. As if there was anything enjoyable about any of this. “My apprentice has woken,” Snoke said.

“Yes,” Hux responded. “I spoke with him this morning.” He hesitated, then decided Snoke might as well know. “He appears to have delved into my mind.”

“Oh?” Snoke asked. He didn’t seem concerned, which did not surprise Hux in the slightest. “And what did he find?”

Hux didn’t see a reason to tell Snoke that Ren had caught him daydreaming about changing the bottom layer of the stormtrooper uniform to a softer, breathable fabric rather than the current scratchy mess they now used, so he said, “He indicated surprise that I was there to see him.”

“Has he not seen you every day?” Snoke asked.

“He has,” Hux confirmed. “Today was peculiar. He was surprised about something.”

At this, Snoke sat up a little straighter. His robes didn’t so much as shift, something Hux had always found peculiar. “What did he say?” Snoke asked.

Hux frowned as he sought the words Ren had used. “He said, ‘I didn’t think it was you.’”

Snoke’s eyes widened. A sound echoed through the holochamber, sending a shiver up Hux’s spine: Snoke had _hummed_.

“I see,” Snoke said. “This changes things.” He drummed his fingers against the arms of his enormous throne. “Continue to oversee his recovery. His training can wait.”

“Supreme Leader—”

But Snoke’s hologram had faded out, leaving Hux alone.

* * *

Time passed—Ren wasn’t sure how long. Droids came and went, but Hux didn’t.

Ren didn’t like how he was waiting for Hux to come back. Now that he was eating again (he hadn’t even noticed that he’d stopped) and blinking again (something he really ought to have noticed that he’d stopped) and thinking clearly (or, clearer, at the very least), he realized that he’d likely managed to make Hux angry.

Or, at least, confused. Then again, those without the Force were easily confused, something that probably irked Hux.

Now, though, Ren needed _not_ to make Hux angrier than before, if only until he determined the extent of the—bond—formed. In the wake of Starkiller, his mind must have latched onto the most proximal person he had any degree of relation to, and Hux had been it. Ren couldn’t tell if that was good, pathetic, or otherwise, but it _was_ , and they’d both have to deal with it.

_Ren_ had to deal with it. Hux didn’t have the Force, so it couldn’t go both ways. Hux wouldn’t hear his thoughts and dreams. The thought upset Ren more than it should have—more than he _thought_ it should have. He wanted Hux to be an equal party to whatever this turned into—suffering, most like, judging by their last encounter.

With that thought in mind, he, for the first time since Starkiller, swung himself out of that bed and set his feet on the floor.

He’d been undressed, and the floor stung his feet. He resisted the urge to pull back and instead forced himself to revel in the feel of icicles shooting through his skin. He took a deep breath, coughed, and did it again because he could.

Slowly, Ren made to stand and found that he could hardly support his own weight. His legs felt atrophied—how long had he been down? It didn’t look to him that he’d lost muscle mass, but he hadn’t trained in days—or longer. It was hard to say.

He took a deep breath and another step, then another, then another.

* * *

“Sir, Ren appears to have left the medbay.”

Hux turned slightly, tearing his gaze away from the viewport on the bridge. It had been so long since he’d stood in that position, as a commander rather than a nurse, that he’d fallen into something of a reverie. Leave it to Ren to plague him even without being physically present.

_You’ve been thinking about uniforms_.

Hux balled his hands into fists and kept them tightly behind his back. Not now. He couldn’t afford to do that now.

“Appears?” he asked, the word curling in his mouth like a curse.

The officer—Hux couldn’t remember his name right now, not with all of the names he’d read and heard and lost lately—paled.

“He, ah, vanished,” he said. Hux arched a single eyebrow. “We’ll find him right away, sir!”

“See to it that you do, unless you want to be transferred to a mining facility on Briu III.”

The officer scurried away, and Hux looked back to the viewport. His concentration was shattered, though. Vanished, _pfassk_ —Ren had used the Force on one of the medics. Clearly they—whoever they were—needed reconditioning in the worst of ways.

“Sir, I appear to have, ah, located Ren,” that same officer said from behind him. His voice quavered. Hux spun in place and froze.

There, wearing one of those ridiculous medbay sarongs and absolutely nothing else, was Kylo Ren. He was just as pale as Hux had last seen him, his hair just as stringy, and he seemed to be shaking with the effort it took to stand, but he was smiling in that delusional way men who lost vast quantities of blood did. Hux had the sudden and nearly uncontrollable urge to throw him out of airlock.

“Hi,” Ren said.

* * *

Ren wasn’t entirely sure how he’d made his way to the bridge. Frankly, the time in between leaving the medbay and arriving in front of General Hux—and the bridge crew, he couldn’t forget them—was something of a blur. He’d moved of his own accord because he’d been distressed.

Or, no, that wasn’t it. Someone else was distressed. Hux was distressed.

Judging by the mortified and irate look that seemed to have permanently settled over Hux’s face, he’d said that last part out loud.

“—ters, _now_ ,” Hux said. His mouth had been moving before that, but Ren had been distracted. Ren waited, sure that Hux, always full of his own importance, would repeat himself. “Have you gone deaf? _Get to your quarters, now_.”

That wouldn’t do. Ren had come all of the way up here, after all. It was quite cold and uncomfortable—he wondered what had happened to his clothes and why he’d needed to be out of them—and here Hux was going to send him off before he could say what he’d come to say.

The notion that he could just _say_ it crossed his mind. Why hadn’t he just spit it out?

Hux snatched his arm and yanked, as if that would do anything were Ren not willing to comply. As it was, Ren permitted himself to be dragged along the gangway down to the doors to the rest of the ship, aware as he was that the crew was watching.

_The crew_. They shouldn’t remember this—they’d seen his face, and him largely undressed. That wouldn’t do. He waved, sure they were watching him, and felt their memories drift into nothingness.

“I can walk,” Ren said. Had he said anything else? He was having a hard time moving his mouth.

“Of course you can, just as you can refrain from embarrassing yourself and me in front of my crew,” Hux spat, keeping his eyes fixed determinedly ahead. He was sweating, Ren saw—as if he were exerting himself dragging Ren. Was he?

“Keep your moronic observations to yourself,” Hux gritted. Ren had apparently said that one out loud, too, but it was true, wasn’t it?He made sure to keep his lips bitten shut lest he say anything else without meaning to, though. Ren thought that maybe he should be more concerned about all of this, but everything felt dampened, lessened—no, _fuzzy_. Blurry. He wondered if he’d be able to carry Hux like this, then decided that it probably wouldn’t be a good idea to try. Maybe it was proximity to Hux? Ren didn’t think that was how bonds like this worked, but then again, he’d never had one before.

“Hold _still_ ,” Hux ordered. Ren was about to bite out a remark to the effect that he couldn’t be still and walk at the same time, then he realized that they were in front of the doors to Ren’s quarters. That made more sense. Ren held himself still, standing as tall as he could, when he noticed something else.

“You have lifts in your shoes,” Ren said. “We’re of a height.”

Hux sighed so deeply that Ren could feel it in his bones. The air burned with anger and exasperation and—confusion? _Oh_ , Ren thought. Those were Hux’s emotions. Ren hadn’t thought that he’d had any. Except, no, he knew that he did. Hux had been angry in the medbay, and afraid.

Hux keyed in the override to Ren’s doors and deposited him on his bed without further preamble. The sheets felt funny on Ren’s skin—itchy, or not itchy enough.

“You’re high, you ass,” Hux said. “Of course they feel strange.”

Ren moved his tongue in his mouth as he rolled over. Carefully, so he didn’t say something else without intending to, he said, “You look like hell.”

Hux’s face went pale with—no, that wasn’t anger, no, that was _fear_ , cold and clammy and horrible. Ren felt his throat closing with it. He rolled over so he didn’t have to look at Hux, didn’t have to feel anything other than himself. He missed having to feel only his own emotions. Maybe he could teach Hux how to control them, and wouldn’t that be something? He’d have something to lecture Hux on rather than the other way around.

It was awfully good to be horizontal—he’d been exhausted without knowing it. He could talk to Hux later. He closed his eyes, and the transition into sleep was seamless.

* * *

Ren’s quarters didn’t have anything to drink, which was a damn shame because _Hux very much needed a drink_. He debated how appropriate it would be to have someone bring him one, then decided that everyone had been traumatized enough for one standard cycle.

He sank into the lone chair, staring at the snoring, hulking mass that was Kylo Ren. Ren had… No. Hux wasn’t going to think about it. He rubbed his eyes with the base of his palms until he saw spots.

He needed a drink. To get one, short of having someone bring one, which was out of the question, he’d have to leave Ren. It might be fine, but then again, the big oaf had come up to the bridge wearing nothing but that sarong and a dumb, drugged-up expression when Hux had failed to visit him. He’d follow Hux again, or else he’d pester someone else. Already, Ren had done damage to his own reputation by galavanting around like that. Hux didn’t know what that would do to morale—didn’t want to know, really. Ren had picked a truly horrible time to make a spectacle of himself. Everyone was trying their best to get the First Order back on its feet, and here was Ren—

Standing right in front of him.

Hux looked up, mortified that he hadn’t noticed.

“Ren, what’s the—”

Ren didn’t answer; he merely lifted Hux up from the chair and began to carry him to the bed.

“Let me—let me _go_ ,” Hux shouted as he was deposited onto the sheets. Ren did not, and the more Hux looked at him, the more he understood that it was likely that Ren wasn’t aware of what he was doing at all. It seemed, for all intents and purposes, that he was asleep.

Hux viciously jabbed at Ren, hoping to hurt him into wakefulness, but Ren laid a massive arm across Hux’s torso and held his legs down with one of his own, and short of head-butting—which he tried and happened to hurt Hut more than it seemed to hurt Ren—he was completely immobilized.

Hux wished he’d left and gotten himself a drink when he’d had the chance. Now all he had was the consolation that Ren hadn’t done away with the high thread-count sheets Hux had not-so-subtly demanded for officers above the rank of Lieutenant. He could feel the softness of the pillowcase under his cheek. It counted for little, but it was far better than nothing.

As he lay trapped under Ren, he considered his situation. With Ren out of the medbay and in his own quarters, there would be no one to sedate him. Whenever he woke, he would be lucid, or something close to it. No one would be interrupting them any time soon, so Hux had from now until Ren woke to plan.

First thing first, he’d have to try not to beat Ren to a bloody pulp. Not, he thought grimly, that he _could_ , but if Ren woke up as belligerent as he could sometimes be, Hux might just be tempted to try, and that wouldn’t be a good decision.

Second, they’d have to talk, face to face. Ren had looked into his mind—had seen things that Hux—

Hux swallowed and tried to shift. Ren gave a little ground but not much. He nuzzled up against Hux as if they were lovers and not co-commanders caught in a very peculiar situation. It wasn’t helping, and Hux tried to turn so that Ren was less next to him and more behind him. It only worked so well.

Ren _knew_. That was the truth—Ren had caught him thinking about clothes, about fabrics and swatches and how best to implement a wide overhaul of First Order uniforms. Had he learned that Hux had stitched a bolt of silk in each of his gloves? Did he know that Hux had specifically tested each of the sheets assigned to the officers before he authorized an expenditure, tailoring his choice based on what he thought was the best feel for the price?

Had he, understandably curious, gone digging deeper, looking for the source of Hux’s mental deviancy?

Hux shuddered, and Ren rubbed against him in a parody of comfort. He wasn’t _meant_ to think of these things. He wasn’t _meant_ to care. Hux had been built and bred for war and conquest, not _fashion_. The mere word turned his stomach, and he turned his face away from the ceiling, sure that any moment Ren would jerk upright to wave Hux’s failure in his face.

_Why would he care?_ The question went unchallenged in Hux’s mind for mere moments before he quashed it with the obvious response: _Because aesthetics are superficial and unnecessary. There is no need for such thoughts. They are extraneous and betray an interest outside the success of the First Order. The individual must be squashed so the whole may rise._

Not his words, Hux knew, but someone long ago. It hadn’t been his father—maybe one of the other commanders, though he wasn’t certain any of them had ever caught him in the act of fiddling with fabric. He’d been careful as a child, and even more so now, which made it particularly galling that _Kylo Ren_ had found him out.

Hux could put up a strong front, he supposed. He could pretend as though it were nothing (it wasn’t) and simply a passing fancy. One of the Grand Admirals of old had had a fascination with art, hadn’t he? Thrawn, Hux thought, the Chiss. Even First Order instructors had begrudgingly admitted that he’d been a talented commander, subhuman or no.

The thought sunk just as quickly as the first. Ren had been too deep in Hux’s thoughts not to recognize his fear of discovery. Undoubtedly Ren would hold that out in front of him, the constant bait. Would he be blackmailed? Humiliated? Hux could think of several irregularities in First Order shipments, things he’d covered with innocuous other purchases, things that might sink him. He wasn’t meant to use First Order funds for anything other than the First Order.

_You are the First Order_ , Hux thought, vicious.

But he wasn’t. Not yet. If he were found out, he was unsure of the consequences, but there would be some. No doubt several officers would find him effeminate and weak—many of them hadn’t had the benefit of Hux’s enlightened upbringing and still thought of women and their traditionally-coded work as inferior. Others would look at him with derision and scorn. Still more would wonder if Hux’s fascination didn’t speak to New Republic ties, for weren’t they both opulent, extra, corrupted?

Hux swallowed and tried to relax. He’d be ruined. Ren could sink him—but for the moment he was snoring, wrapped around Hux like his life depended on it. Hux breathed deeply, wishing for the soft smell of his own sheets, cleaned and rotated daily. No doubt Ren hadn’t changed them at all, though they didn’t smell rank. They didn’t smell like much of anything at all, and wasn’t that odd?

The dark was lulling Hux’s thoughts, he knew. The combination of the shadows and the warmth of Ren tricked his body into sleepiness. It wasn’t time, and a nap would through off Hux’s schedule, but what other choice did he have? He couldn’t move. Disgruntled, he tried to make himself comfortable and shut his eyes. When Ren woke, they would have words. For now, Hux needed to save his strength.

* * *

When Ren opened his eyes, he quickly came to three startling, simultaneous realizations.

First and foremost, he’d formed a bond with Hux.

Second, he’d been drugged out of his mind and had done something that he suspected was absolutely and agonizingly embarrassing on the bridge.

Third, Hux was sleeping in his bed.

That last one had Ren sitting up so quickly his head spun and he felt as though he’d be sick. Ridiculous—when was the last time he’d eaten? He remembered being in the medbay, which is why he’d been drugged— _sedated_ , more like. They’d been trying to keep him down and had given him too much. Come to think of it, that had likely been deliberate.

Just as Ren was muddling his way through his memories of the time before he’d fallen asleep, Hux woke, jarred by Ren’s movements. He’d looked—well, Ren hadn’t looked at him too closely while he’d been sleeping except to recognize that it was him, but now his expression shifted from confusion to _rage_.

Hux lunged at him, possibly intending to knock him over. He succeeded only because Ren felt so light-headed that he’d been going to fall back onto the cushions anyway.

“You are going to _explain_ yourself,” Hux spluttered in between curses. His hair bent up at odd directions from sleeping with gel in it, and his eyes were positively wild. “I’ve been _trapped_ here for _hours_ while you _snored_ like a _beast_ —”

“Why are you here?” Ren demanded. “You have no business—”

“ _You’re the one who trapped me in the bed!_ ”

Hux’s shriek left Ren’s ears ringing, but no sooner than he’d opened his mouth to protest than he remembered. He _had_ carried Hux to bed. He hadn’t been awake.

“You hit me,” Ren said, remembering what had come next. Hux scowled, sighing dramatically.

“You sought me out,” Hux said. “I—You—” Hux cut himself off with a choked scream of frustration.

It was hard to keep his bearings with Hux so frustrated. His emotions were tangible, though not overwhelming as they had been before.

“General,” Ren said, going for some degree of normalcy, hyperaware of his own state of undress and Hux’s relative dishevelment, “I have something to tell you.”

Hux looked torn between throwing something and hitting Ren once more. Thankfully, neither could do much in the way of damage now that Ren’s mind was steadily clearing.

“You mentioned as much,” Hux seethed. “When you—” He cut himself off again, looking away. There was that emotion again, brief but strong—fear.

“When I what?” Ren asked. He honestly couldn’t remember anything that could illicit such a response, only that this wasn’t the first time he’d seen it.

“When you broadcast it _into my head_ ,” Hux said, tone suddenly full of new vitriol. “When you _went into my mind_.”

Ren froze.

“I don’t want to see you on the bridge unless you have something reasonable to show me,” Hux said. “I don’t want you in my head. Frankly, I don’t want you on my _ship_. I’ll be reporting as much to the Supreme Leader, as I would have done _hours ago_ had you not acted like a drunkard in his cups.”

Hux made to get up. Ren yanked him back down.

“I wasn’t aware I was not speaking aloud,” Ren said. “It was not my intention to delve into your mind in any regard.”

“Let go,” Hux said, speaking through clenched teeth.

Ren did not let go. “You and I have formed a bond through the Force.”

“A bond through— _pffassk_ , Ren, the scavenger girl hit your head harder than I thought.” Ren squeezed harder. “Let _go_.”

Ren scowled at Hux, infuriated by Hux’s response. “Why it had to be you, I have no idea,” he lied. “Of all of the useless officers aboard this ship, you must be the—”

The slap seemed to echo in the room, or maybe just around Ren’s head. It didn’t hurt so much as it startled him. He genuinely hadn’t seen it coming—hadn’t been looking for it. He clearly should have been.

Ren flipped them, pinning Hux’s hand by his ears. “I should kill you,” Ren said. Hux spat in his face and kneed him in the crotch. He collapsed on top of Hux, who struggled and failed to roll him off.

“Get off of me,” Hux panted.

“No,” Ren said, even as he lifted up a little. He had no desire to crush Hux—not at the moment, anyway. “Not until you understand—”

“Understand?” Hux asked. His voice had gone up in pitch as if hysterical. “ _Understand?_ Get _off of me_.”

Something in Hux’s voice compelled Ren to obey. Possibly—just possibly—it was because of the sheer level of discomfort Ren sensed through Hux.

Immediately, Hux was off of the bed and making tracks toward the door. Ren reached out a hand to stop him, only to have Hux do that for himself, spinning on one heel. Livid couldn’t even begin to describe his expression.

“The only thing I need to _understand_ is that you’ve become a liability. If you can’t even remain under your own control—”

“It’s not a matter of _control_ ,” Ren said.

“—there’s no reason—none—to keep you aboard,” Hux said, shouting over Ren. He went for the door, and Ren kept it from opening. “Let me out this instant.”

“Not until we talk and you calm down.”

“Calm—as if I’m the one being unreasonable.”

“You are,” Ren said. “Sit down. We need to talk.”

Hux glared at him and refused to move. Ren figured this was the best they could do.

“A bond is a connection between people formed through the Force,” Ren said. “Often between two who are sensitive to it, but not always.” Hux opened his mouth, but Ren continued, searching for terminology Hux would understand. “It’s like a data stream of sensory information—how the other person is doing, feeling, and, periodically, what they’re thinking.”

“If you’re going to blame some stars-forsaken _bond_ for going into my head—” Hux started.

Ren shook his head. “No, that—was an accident. Because of the sedative, I was exercising less care than I am wont to do. However, the bond is responsible for the rest. I saw what you’d dreamed of, felt what you did.”

Hux wasn’t appeased. “So?” he demanded. “How do you break it?”

Ren froze. “Break it?” he asked, though he foresaw the answer.

“The bond,” Hux said, as if discussing inventory. There was something else behind it—a concern that Hux hadn’t voiced—but Ren couldn’t dig into that, not now. Instead, he gave himself a moment. Of course Hux wanted to break the bond. He wanted to break it, too. It hadn’t been his choice to form one, nor had he desired to. It was the suddenness of the question—the straightforward way in which Hux had asked, as if it were an easy thing that was done every day—that had thrown Ren for a loop.

“Distance,” Ren said. Even as he spoke, he knew it wouldn’t be enough. The Force sang between them, pleased with its work. To go against it…

Hux pursed his lips, unaware of Ren’s internal turmoil. “That could prove difficult unless one of us were to be reassigned,” he said. “Snoke wants you to stay here for the time being. At least, that’s what he told me last.”

There was something in that, too. What all was Hux keeping from him?

“Physical distance helps, yes, but emotional distance is crucial,” Ren said.

Hux trained his eyes on Ren the same way he did ‘troopers out of line during inspections. “Emotional distance?” he asked, voice crisp. Ren didn’t respond. He didn’t need to; Hux understood. He looked away. “I doubt that will be a problem.”

“The bond will make it difficult to stay apart,” Ren said. “Both parties find themselves _wanting_ to stay together.”

Hux frowned at him. “You know this,” he said.

Ren hesitated, then said, “Yes.”

“From experience?” Hux asked. He wanted to know if Ren had experience _breaking_ a bond, Ren reminded himself. He didn’t care if Ren had ever been this close to someone before.

Ren shook his head. Not the time for thoughts of loneliness. “No,” he said.

Hux cursed in a language Ren didn’t recognize. Whatever they spoke on Arkanis, he guessed, or maybe it was something he’d picked up at the Academy.

“It’s possible, but difficult,” Ren said. “They say even Vader could not break the bond he’d formed with his old master.”

“To hell with _Vader_ ,” Hux sneered.

Ren bit back a sharp retort and instead said, “The Supreme Leader might know.”

“Might?” Hux asked.

Ren felt his face heat up. The lights were low, but if Hux could see him _blushing_ , he might never live it down.

“Will,” he said. “Undoubtedly.” He shook as he spoke, feeling waves and waves of cold washing over him. His bond with his Master—not a bond like the one he had with Hux but something else entirely—paled in comparison with the intensity of this. “For now, you have to control your emotions.”

“I am in full control of myself, thank you,” Hux said, the ice in his voice equivalent to the frozen feelings that crashed over Ren like the ocean in winter.

“You’re cold,” Ren said. He lacked the vocabulary to describe it better—it was as though Hux had taken the very void of space and dumped it into Ren’s mind, freezing neurons and electrons and the very minute motions of each and every atom in his body.

Hux didn’t smile. “I am apathetic to the situation,” he said. “I suppose you feel that?”

Ren was shaking now. He was so _cold_. “I do,” Ren admitted.

Hux huffed. “We’d better hurry, then,” he said.

* * *

The walk to the audience chamber stretched on and on before Hux and Ren. After eating something—which had taken far too long to get out of the way and which Hux strongly suspected Ren had drawn out—Ren had requested a meeting with Snoke and received an affirmative reply almost immediately. Now they merely had to present themselves and ask.

It should have been simple. Hux knew he hadn’t done anything wrong. He had no connection, tenuous or otherwise, to the Force. If anyone could be blamed for this conundrum, it was Ren himself. That said, Ren seemed to be the one physically suffering. He shook as he walked, muttering about the cold and something else that Hux was too proud to ask Ren to repeat. Hux wondered if his attempts to shut off his emotional responses were coming through as _cold_ or if that was Ren’s dramatics. It could have been both for all he knew. Still, Hux had no intention of changing tactics. He didn’t know anything about bonds of the nature they’d formed or the Force on the whole. For all he knew, he could make it worse by doing something else.

_Or better_ , Hux thought snidely. He glanced at Ren and tried to think level, even thoughts even as they skidded into dangerous territory. _You could use this._

No. Hux refused to use a weapon he didn’t understand, never mind how tempting. There was too much risk that it would backfire in his face.

_You don’t want to do this._

Hux bit the inside of his cheek at the thought. It wasn’t his, was it? He glanced again at Ren and found him hunched over, masked and quaking. He doubted Ren had planted the idea in his head. The bond, then? This process—trying to break the bond—it _hurt_ , somewhere Hux couldn’t point to if he had to. It felt wrong, as if something or someone was screaming to turn back. The Force itself, maybe, too pleased with its handiwork to see it all undone.

Absurd. The Force wasn’t _alive_.

Hux kept a steady pace even as Ren faltered, visibly vibrating and trembling. Hux’s tainted thoughts aside, this bond was affecting Ren greatly and negatively. It had to be broken, otherwise it was possible—just possible—that Hux could be blamed for Ren’s new incompetence. That, more than anything Ren could hang over his head regarding his predilection for clothing, could sink him.

When they arrived at the doors to the audience chambers, Hux prepared to enter, only to find one arm pulled back. He swiveled to look at Ren, squinting. With that mask of his on, his face was unreadable, but Hux could guess—he was afraid.

Hux snatched his arm from Ren. He’d have to be the brave one, then. He pushed open the doors and entered.

Snoke’s hologram already loomed larger than life. Traditionally, he waited until both Hux and Ren had waited several long minutes to grace them with his presence. Perhaps he sensed the severity of the situation, or else he intended to berate them for taking so long to arrive. It had felt they’d been walking for an age or longer.

“Supreme Leader,” Hux began, but Snoke held up a hand.

“My apprentice,” Snoke spoke. “Why do you not come forward?”

Hux risked a look to his left only to see that Ren was not there. In fact, Ren had hardly moved away from the doors. Slowly, as if each and every step pained him, he walked forward, coming to stop in line with Hux as he faced the Leader. With shaking hands, he removed his helmet. Underneath, just as Hux suspected, he was pale and blotchy. He looked legitimately ill.

“Kylo Ren,” Snoke intoned, “and General Hux. Had I known that the pair of you would form a bond of this nature…”

Hux’s attention, already fixed on the hologram before him, now snapped to a single point. Snoke already knew? Hux’s thoughts scattered wildly. If he’d known, he would have taken further precautions. Snoke could have already passed judgment—in fact, it seemed as though he had. Hux would have given anything for a clean, pressed uniform and his other pair of gloves.

“Congratulations,” Snoke spoke. Unless Hux was sorely mistaken, he was _smiling_. “The Order will thrive following this fortuitous development.”

Ren seemed to be at a loss of how to proceed. Again, Hux felt the weight of responsibility thrust upon him.

“Supreme Leader,” he spoke, “we have come before you not for congratulations but for answers. We wish to break the bond.”

Snoke straightened, clearly taken aback. His gaze shifted to Ren, eyes searching and full of malice.

“Is this true?” he asked, directing the question clearly at Ren. Hux bristled at the thought that his opinion didn’t matter.

“It is,” Ren confirmed. Hux could see his hands flexing, no doubt with the cold he kept complaining about. _Soon_ , Hux thought, attempting to project a thought that could reassure, _soon Snoke will tell us how to break the bond and this ordeal will be over_.

Snoke hummed—at least, that was the best approximation Hux could give the sound. It was as if a shockwave moved through the room, both audible and physical. Hux felt his very bones vibrate;he couldn’t help but shiver from head to toe.

Ren’s hand shot out to steady Hux. He hadn’t even noticed he was falling forward. Now, he glanced at his companion, curious. He didn’t have long to wonder, for Snoke spoke.

“You understand, I am sure,” Snoke said, speaking direction to Ren, “that such a bond, once formed, is difficult to break.”

Ren bowed his head and made no direct response.

Snoke considered the matter. “My apprentice,” he said. Ren looked up. “You know in your heart of hearts the cost of such an action.” Hux’s gaze flickered back and forth between the two figures, confused. Ren bowed his head, misery playing across his features. Cost? What cost? Anything, he was willing to pay anything—

Ren anchored himself. That posture, when aimed at Hux, meant this was a fight he could not win. That Ren would face the Leader in such a manner—Hux couldn’t divine the meaning. He longed to speak up, but something prevented him. Ren, no doubt.

Snoke tilted his head, then looked back at Hux. Hux straightened himself under the gaze of that monstrous hologram.

“General,” Snoke said, “you wish to extricate yourself from this, do you not?”

Hux lifted his chin. “I do.”

Snoke lifted one hand. “At the cost of your life?” he asked.

Hux felt himself go still. His tongue was as lead in his mouth. At the cost of his _what_?

“Bonds between two strong in the Force such as Kylo Ren cannot be severed even in death,” Snoke continued. “You, however, lack the Force. Should you perish, the bond would be broken.” Hux could not speak. He had to _die_? No, not like this. He couldn’t, it couldn’t be real. Beside him, Ren did not move.

“You believe my apprentice will suffer under these conditions,” Snoke said. “You believe it to be a detriment, not a boon.”

Hux couldn’t deny it, but this was his _life_ —his life for Ren’s happiness? Efficiency? Hux couldn’t quantify any aspect of this. For once, he felt entirely over his head. He could only stare dumbly, angrily, at the being before him. Snoke had led him directly into this trap, of that Hux was sure.

Ren stepped forward. “Supreme Leader, I will endeavor to bring the General around,” he said. “Should I fail, I shall finish this myself.” He bowed his head shortly. “I thank you for your council.”

Snoke returned the gesture. “Take care, my apprentice,” he murmured. “I trust you will make the correct decision.” With hardly a glance at Hux, the hologram flickered out of existence.

* * *

With the disappearance of Snoke’s hologram, all that remained for Ren to focus on was Hux. He’d dropped his mental insistence on apathy and ice, and Ren could feel him _burning_ —with fear and with anger, though the words could hardly do the emotions justice. Hux raged against this twist of fate as surely as Ren would have, except—

Ren could feel the bond.

As he stood, waiting for Hux to acknowledge him in some small way, he admired it. It glowed through the Force—orange and red and yellow, the many hues of a fire not hot enough to melt beams but more than dangerous enough to do most everything else. Fitting colors for the pair of them, Ren thought, as this was a bond that could, in theory, destroy all around them while leaving its two anchor points perfectly safe. It twined around his wrists and ankles, wrapped around his torso, and stretched between the two of them in a web of fire.

Beside him, Hux pivoted and marched toward the exit without once looking at him. Ren followed, yet silent.

As soon as they reacher the exterior hallway, Hux spun yet again, this time to face him.

“You knew,” Hux accused, vitriol in his voice.

“I did not,” Ren shot back.

“You told him you knew, in your _heart of hearts_ ,” Hux said, mimicking the Leader’s voice. It wasn’t an attractive sound, not the least because Hux’s voice broke halfway through.

“I told you—”

“That he could fix it. You intended for him to kill me.”

Ren drew up. “I have considered it in the past,” he said, spitting the words, “as have you. You would do well not to tempt me now.”

Hux’s face contorted with nothing less than the purest of rages. Their bond _sang_. Ren waited to see what Hux would do, provoked like this. In the past, Ren had always left him behind. Now, he gave Hux an opportunity.

Hux did not move. He stared, his anger turning into confusion and then—

“You mock me,” Hux snarled. “You intend to keep me alive to torment me.”

Ren pursed his lips. “It was not my intention,” he spoke. “You are, however fleetingly, of use to the Order—”

Hux cursed and prepared to march away. Ren snagged his wrist, easily keeping him in place. Hux yanked against his grip and got himself nowhere fast.

“Let go,” Hux ordered through gritted teeth.

“I was not finished,” Ren stated simply.

“I don’t—let _go_ ,” Hux snapped. Something bright and angry hit Ren full in the face, and he toppled backward. He hit the wall, startled, then felt at his face. Had Hux…?

Hux breathed hard across from him, eyes hurt. His eyes flickered down to his own hands, then back to Ren. After a moment, he straightened himself up and turned away.

“Stop,” Ren ordered. He held out a hand but did nothing else; Hux stopped of his own accord. “Separating will prove painful.”

“For you,” Hux said cooly.

Ren laughed, breathless and cruel as he righted himself. “For both of us,” he replied. “Though you may not see my thoughts, you are as connected as I. You will feel the effects, and your performance will suffer.”

Hux took in a deep breath and held it. Ren counted as Hux did: _three, four, five…_

“What are you proposing?” Hux asked, mouth tight. “If you’re not going to murder me, what is your plan?”

Ren wasn’t prepared to admit that he hadn’t gotten that far.

“Walk with me,” he said instead, replacing his helmet on his head. “I believe we must discuss the particulars elsewhere.”

* * *

Hux followed Ren. Deep down, he was at a loss. What was he to do? He had no concept of the limits of such a _bond_ , whatever that truly meant. What could they do? Was Hux now required to accompany Ren on his missions, those that were reserved exclusively for the Knights of Ren? Or was Ren to be taken out of duty to protect Hux? The latter seemed unlikely; Hux thought that the former would only result in Hux’s death.

If Ren sensed his fears—and Hux couldn’t quiet them in his own head, so he thought it likely that he did—he gave no indication. He walked toward the officer’s decks, straight to the living quarters. Hux found himself in front of the door to Ren’s own rooms. He’d half expected they would go to his own. He would have been more comfortable, or perhaps less. He’d never willingly invited Ren inside.

It hardly mattered now, Hux supposed. Ren _knew_ —everything. They were tied together, and Ren could see him in a way that Hux couldn’t. The shame of it burned.

Ren gestured for him to enter, and Hux did so. The doors slit shut behind him, and Hux waited. No matter Ren’s decision—and it was Ren’s decision, not his, the Supreme Leader had hardly made an effort to disguise that fact—Hux was as good as a slave to this _thing_ before him. Ren could hardly dress himself, between that ratty cowl and the absurd cropped shirt that was hidden underneath other layers. That he would have an advantage over Hux seemed like the death penalty itself.

Ren removed his helmet and crossed the room. He ran a hand through his hair, shaking out the still-greasy locks as he looked anywhere but at Hux.

“We must talk about this,” Ren murmured.

Hux resisted the urge to curse. “Obvious,” he muttered.

Ren glared, and Hux straightened under his gaze. He would not shrink, not now. Not ever, not while he drew breath.

“We need to determine—limits,” Ren said.

“Limits,” Hux echoed. He rubbed his forehead, attempting to will away the headache that had taken up residence over his right eye.

“How far we can be from each other, and for how long,” Ren said, staring at him. Hux looked to the ceiling. “What we will and will not accept from each other when we must be close.”

Hux cursed, then said, “Fine.” Ren said nothing. “Were you expecting an argument?” When he looked back at Ren, he was staring at the floor, frowning. Hux resisted the urge to fold his arms in consternation. “What is it now?”

Whatever had bothered Ren, he shook it off quickly enough. “It is nothing,” he said simply. “Shall we begin?”

* * *

Ren wasn’t angry. That surprised even him, but it was undeniably true. He had searched himself several times over and couldn’t find it in him. He could sense Hux’s irritated resignation, his utter abhorrence, but that was as close as he could get.

No, Ren wasn’t angry, he was _sad_.

The revelation hit him as he spoke to Hux, momentarily distracted. He’d thought of forming such a bond before—of linking himself to someone who—

It was no matter. The fact was, he’d formed one with _Hux_ , of all people, someone who he hated and who hated him in turn. He’d have to kill him. No matter what they tried, or how hard either of them worked to make the bond something that could be managed, Hux would have to die. Ren couldn’t survive this way, constantly bombarded with hate and apathy in turns, fire and ice. He couldn’t. Snoke was one thing—Snoke was _known_ , as Hux could become, given time, but he was also his _mentor_ , his _ally_. Hux…was truly neither of those things.

Hux would have to die, and it was because Ren had failed. He ought to have known the correct answer right there, in the audience chamber. He might have, but he was weak, and now here they were, waiting. He might not have liked Hux, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t useful. It didn’t mean he didn’t have a part to play. Now, someone else would have to fill that gap, and Ren had no confidence that whoever was chosen would be able to do it.

“What is it now?”

Hux’s words washed over him, drawing his attention back. Hux’s attention was fixed on him, with no external thought to anything else. The double-image in Ren’s mind staggered him, and he pulled himself together.

“It is nothing,” he said. _I will kill you_. “Shall we begin?” Hux pulled a face. “Assuming, of course, you still wish to proceed.”

Hux scowled. “Of course I _wish to proceed_ ,” he said, his tone mocking. “Don’t tell me now that you’ve decided to kill me.”

Ren didn’t avert his gaze.

“Wonderful,” Hux muttered. He braced his feet shoulder-width apart, hands behind his back. His thoughts fluttered, considering—he had a request to make, but Ren couldn’t focus on it fast enough before Hux silenced it sharply. “Make it quick, then. We’ve wasted enough time with this.”

Ren took a step forward. Almost immediately, his vision was not his own.

There was a man—tall, strong, formidable—standing with a group of officers. _Old Empire_ , Ren thought. He was so close to the ground, it was harder to see the faces—but then the scene changed.

A woman, demonstrating how to throw a punch, no—

A ceremony of some sort—that vision lasted less than a handful of seconds—

The _Finalizer_ —

Nothing.

Ren pulled back with a frown, unaware that he physically stepped back as well. He blinked to refocus his eyes and found Hux standing quite still, eyes firmly shut as he awaited certain doom.

“No,” Ren said.

Hux’s eyes shot open. “No, what? You don’t have all day. I imagine the Leader will want a report—”

“I’m not going to kill you,” Ren said.

Hux stood still, then relaxed his posture. His legs came back together, and he rubbed his own wrists.

“What was that, then?” Hux demanded. “Some silly demonstration of your power? I’m not some puppet whose strings you can pull at will just because of some thrice-forsaken _bond_.”

“Why?” Ren asked.

“Why can’t you pull my strings?” Hux asked. Ren could feel the heat of his fury from across the room. “Because—”

“No,” Ren said. “Why would you surrender your life so willingly?”

“Why…?” Hux asked. As he did so, his rage seemed to fall away until he was nearly serene of expression. “Because I doubt you’d be kind to my corpse if I attempted to destroy _you_ first. Odds of victory are too low.”

Something in that answer rang false.

“You think you deserve to die.”

Hux stiffened. “I do not.”

Ren tilted his head, considering. “You were searching for something,” he said. “A memory.”

Hux went pale—paler than usual, anyway. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You do,” Ren insisted, sure he was on the right track. “You were looking for something happy, something you could focus on in your last moments.”

_Weak_ , Ren thought once, viciously, then: _practical_. Hux would have no further thought or feeling; there was no reason he couldn’t die considering a happy one. The dead feel no shame or embarrassment.

When Hux didn’t say anything, Ren licked his lips and continued, “You couldn’t find one.”

“You’re not killing me because I couldn’t find a happy memory,” Hux said, voice bland. “You must be joking.” He seemed to consider for a moment, then settled back into place. “Fine. I have one that I will settle for. Do as you will.”

Ren frowned, though he reached out. It wasn’t—he couldn’t—

There was a uniform. White, pressed, neat. It was one in a long line, a display of Imperial officer’s uniforms. The white of the Grand Admiral’s stood in stark contrast to the military green of the Grand Moff and the deep blues of lower-ranking officers. Ren—no, _Hux_ —could see them from a point rather low to the ground. This was a child’s memory, watched and re-watched again and again, altered until the uniforms shone brighter than they ever did in reality. The ethereal, perfect quality of a reminiscence pervaded each and every corner.

Ren drew back for a second time, sure he could not try again. Before him, Hux had closed his eyes.

“You like clothes.”

Hux’s eyes snapped open.

“Do we have to—”

“You like them,” Ren said, eyes searching.

Hux’s jaw worked for a long moment before he said, “Yes, I do.”

* * *

Hux told Ren about the uniforms—things he liked, things he didn’t. He talked about the importance of shape and form, how the fabric fitted the body and concealed all weapons. He talked about how he pressed his own uniform, eager to maintain the pleats in his jodhpurs even as they were tucked into his boots. He confided that he refused to use the droids provided to officers for the pressing and maintenance of uniforms; he enjoyed doing it too much to let some automaton do it for him. He spoke of when he’d first met with the Supreme Leader following Starkiller, how he’d deliberately dressed in his best uniform, the one with the least wear on the sleeves. He’d put a lining in his greatcoat and in his gloves, and he’d regretted that he hadn’t been able to change the fabrics.

All the while, Ren listened, face indescribably blank. When Hux fell silent, Ren offered no response. They stood, facing one another, each waiting for the other to do _something_.

Finally, Ren said, “You can’t see it, can you?”

“See what?”

“The bond.”

Hux scowled. _The bond_. Ren said that as though it were special, as though he hadn’t, in the past few hours, gone from rationalizing the thing to attempting to maintain it to threatening to kill Hux.

“It’s beautiful,” Ren seemed to blurt. Hux stared, and Ren looked away. “It—when you spoke.” He licked his lips, and Hux followed the movement. He had nothing left to hide. Ren had pulled out his secrets and his shame and put them all on display as if they were insects pinned in a glass case.“It’s attached to you.”

“Of course it is,” Hux said, not fully knowing what he was saying. As he spoke, he felt—something. Little more than a twinge, no more noticeable than the hair on one’s own head. But it was there, and it was—

“Ren,” Hux said.

Ren refused to look at him.

“Ren,” Hux repeated, and Ren finally turned to him.

“I’ve never seen you happy,” Ren said. “I didn’t think you had any feelings at all.”

Hux’s mouth moved without opening. Ren looked so stricken, so _open_ , and Hux realized the problem. He spoke without fully intending to.

“I expected you to laugh,” Hux said.

“Why?”

“Because it’s absurd,” Hux said, waving a hand. “A General with a—proclivity for clothing?”

“I do not think that is the right word,” Ren said. “You love them.”

Hux’s jaw moved and he said, “I don’t _love_ anything.”

“That isn’t true.” Hux frowned and took in a deep breath, but Ren continued, “That’s nothing to be ashamed of. Passion is…intrinsic to what we are.”

“What’s yours, then?” Hux demanded, voice sour. “Your _passion_.”

Ren opened his mouth and closed it, looking away. _He doesn’t have one. He has nothing_.

Hux wasn’t capable of pity, but Ren was certainly pitiful. Hux shifted his weight and wondered aloud, “How are we going to make this work?”Ren looked at the floor and maintained his silence. “Come here.” Ren dutifully walked forward until he was less than an arm’s length away. “You don’t know how to do this, either, do you?” Hux asked. “That’s why you’ve oscillated so much. You don’t know how, and you’re frightened.”

Ren exhaled. With his head bowed so low, they were nearly of a height.

_You have lifts in your shoes_. Hux had to admit, Ren had been right. He’d started wearing them shortly after Ren had come aboard. That Ren had promptly gone out and gotten himself a pair of boots with a thicker sole had undone Hux’s work, though he hadn’t been willing to resort to wearing heels to make up for the difference. He had some pride, and not much in the way of balance.

“I think,” Ren started, “I know how to begin.” Hux tilted his head, aware that although Ren couldn’t see him, he could feel him—his curiosity, his openness to hear a suggestion or three.

Ren looked him in the eye as he said, “Make me a uniform.”

Hux blinked at him and asked, “What?”

“A uniform,” Ren said, words rushing as if he had to get them all out at once. Maybe if he didn’t say them, he never would. “Something—that you’d like.”

_I’d have something that you like_ , that’s what he meant to say. Ren wouldn’t be abhorrent. _I’d be voyeur to your happiness, perhaps even take some of it for myself…_

Hux considered the proposition. There was a certain significance to the request—Ren would never have asked had he not known what he now knew about Hux, and would never have even considered it if Hux’s life itself wasn’t on the line. The thought had him…thinking. Nothing more, nothing less.

He looked at Ren and found him looking back, watching him from under those eyelashes of his. Standing close like this, it felt…right. Pre-destined.

Hux ran his eyes up and down Ren’s body.

“I’d need your measurements,” Hux said softly, “and your patience.”

Ren’s eyes shone with…something. Something light and hopeful, something that simultaneously evoked disgust and something reciprocal.

“You have it,” Ren said.


End file.
